


Assume your reality.

by Ixempt



Series: Never Grow Up [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Character Study, Drabble Sequence, Gen, I'm really just too lazy to write a proper fic, Implied/Referenced Mental Ilness, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Uchiha Massacre, basically a lot of things are implied, take from this what you will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-28 00:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8423536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ixempt/pseuds/Ixempt
Summary: Their scents always made him feel like he was home.





	

His mother had always smelt like ramen. The smell of the salty broths and meats used to cling to her clothes; in-between the folds of her shirts and the seams of her jumpers.

  
Sasuke furrowed his eyebrows, burying his face into his mother’s pillow. The cold of the room suddenly retreated from the area, leaving the rest of his body feeling detached and exposed. He knew that he shouldn’t be thinking of things like this, but not for the first time, he couldn’t bring himself to care.  
  
Knowing that his mother had no particular taste for the dish in itself, Sasuke had always wondered why its presence lingered on her so much.  
  
She’d laughed when he’d asked about it. Not in the way that one would if someone had asked a stupid question—but still, a sardonic laugh. _A sardonic laugh towards herself_ , he would realize much later.  
  
“I’m a hoarder, Sasuke. I hoard memories and I never move on,” Her soft words were louder than thunder in his ears.  
  
Sasuke breathed in the scent on the pillow, trying to distract himself from the room around him that smelt of bleach and strangers. The room that no longer felt familiar.  
  
He didn’t cry, as he could’ve sworn that if stayed there longer—his mother would come and tell him that dinner would be ready soon—and everything would be okay.  
  
  
The closed door of his parent's bedroom never budged.


End file.
